


Besessenheit

by rabidchild67



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Demonic Possession, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-07
Updated: 2012-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-05 22:52:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Nick starts acting completely unlike himself, certain clues convince Monroe he may be possessed. Monroe turns to an old friend to exorcise the demon.</p><p>Sequel to <a>What is Lost Can Never be Saved</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Besessenheit

“Are you ready, Monroe? Because once this gets started, there’s no turning back; there’s no getting him back again if we fail. Do you understand?”

Monroe looked into the steady, blue gaze of his mentor and oldest friend and nodded, once. “I understand, Ben.” He braced his back against the head of the bed and grasped Nick even tighter across his shoulders. His lover’s head lolled back against Monroe’s shoulder as he panted from exhaustion, but the smaller man was softly chuckling, and his eyes never left the crucifix Ben held in his hand. 

Monroe closed his eyes and held on tighter as Nick began to struggle against him, and he would not soon forget the screams that tore from Nick’s throat as Ben pressed the crucifix to his forehead.

\----

**ONE WEEK EARLIER**

Monroe stirred awake as the bed dipped down; the realization of what that meant had him wide awake a second later. He rolled over onto his back and reached his arm out to Nick, who sat on the edge of the bed, both feet planted on the floor, holding his head in his hands. 

“You’re back,” Monroe sleepily. “Rough case?”

Nick straightened up, turned his head slightly toward Monroe. “Yeah. Yeah, you don’t know the half of it. Just happy it’s over.”

“You catch the bad guys?”

Nick nodded and smiled. “All the bad guys,” he said, and Monroe noticed how hollow-sounding his voice was.

“Everyone OK? Hank? Wu?”

“Sure.”

“You?”

Nick turned to face him then, and smiled at him distractedly. “I’m fine, babe. I’m good. Just bone-tired.” He took Monroe’s hand in his and squeezed it. “Happy to be with you.” He stood then, pulled the covers back and climbed into bed. He settled back against Monroe, who spooned up against him, buried his nose into the warm crease between neck and shoulder and sighed. Then he pulled his head back, because there was a sour note to Nick’s scent, one he wasn’t used to and had never smelled on him before. He was leaning back in to get another whiff when Nick rolled over in place beside him, facing him. He tucked his head up under Monroe’s chin and snaked his arm under Monroe’s, pulling him closer, and all thought of strange scents was soon forgotten as Nick relaxed and Monroe let himself fall back to sleep.

\----

“Nick! Hey, Nick, you gonna get up anytime soon?” Monroe stood in the doorway of the bedroom with his arms crossed. As far as he knew, Nick didn’t have the day off, and it was already nearly 9:00 a.m. 

Nick moaned and turned over onto his belly, burying his head beneath his pillows. “Ten more minutes,” he murmured. 

Monroe walked over and sat beside him. “I made waffles,” he said, pulling the covers down. “What the hell?” he gasped as he saw the large, red welt in the middle of Nick’s back. “What is this, what happened?” he asked, going from zero to Mother Hen in under a second. 

Nick emerged from under the pillow and rose up on an elbow to face Monroe. “What?”

“That _thing_ on your back? Did you get hurt last night?” He craned his neck forward to try to look at it again, laying cool fingertips against it.

Nick flinched away. “It’s nothing – got thrown around some last night. All in the line of duty. I’m fine.” He sat up and tossed the covers back, swinging his legs around to get out of bed. He rose, tousled Monroe’s hair fondly and said, “You worry too much.” He padded off to the bathroom with a laugh, and as he did, Monroe was struck by how much the mark looked like a handprint. 

\----

Four days later, Monroe was talking a client out of sending him his 18th century Thomas Tompion table clock via UPS when a knock at the door took his attention away from the conversation. He glanced up at the cuckoo clock hanging above the door of his small workroom – how strange it still was to see his things hanging on the walls of Nick’s house – and wondered who would be visiting him at 2:30 in the afternoon. He ended his call as expediently as he could and strode through the living room to open the door.

“Hank! Uh, hi.” Monroe was at a loss for words – while Nick’s partner knew about their relationship, Monroe didn’t think the detective quite understood or approved of it. 

“Nick home?” Hank asked, looking around the house.

“No, he’s at the precinct, as far as I know.” Monroe took a step back to let the man enter.

“Haven’t seen him since we busted Otis Perkins on Monday night.”

“What do you mean, you busted Otis Perkins? The serial killer? That was you guys?” 

Perkins had been on a murderous rampage across the Pacific Northwest for months, the subject of a widely publicized manhunt, and had been caught in Portland three days earlier. The media had had a field day with it, but Monroe rarely paid attention to local news, and so was only marginally aware of the details. 

“Yeah, Nick didn’t say anything to you?” Monroe barely managed a shake of his head – the fact Nick said nothing had his mind reeling, he could feel his anxiety level rising. Hank continued. “Caught the guy red-handed, uh, literally. The scene was… well, it was rough.” 

Hank rubbed the back of his neck and Monroe saw him shudder – if the crime scene was enough to rattle a detective as seasoned as Hank, Monroe didn’t want to think what it must’ve been like. He felt his stomach drop, imagining the gruesome scene. “What happened to the victim?”

Hank shook his head, and when he spoke, his voice had a rough edge to it. “He was alive when we got there, but he didn’t make it through surgery. I stayed with him while Nick went after Perkins.”

“So, Nick caught him, then?”

“Brought him back in cuffs half an hour later. Captain was about to send out helicopters when he finally got back.”

“Did he say what took so long? Did something happen?”

“Not that I could tell, but he was really quiet the rest of the night. I think they got into it, he and Perkins, but Nick wouldn’t say what happened. 

“And Perkins?”

“As soon as we got him in a squad car, he started raving about hellfire and eternal damnation. They wound up taking him for a psych evaluation at County hospital.”

“Nick said nothing to me.”

Hank furrowed his eyebrows, but when he spoke, Monroe could tell he was choosing his words carefully – there was no use upsetting a civilian, Monroe guessed. “He probably didn’t want you to worry. Listen, tell him to call me when he gets home, OK? The Captain’s been looking for him, and I can only cover for his ass for so long, you know what I’m saying?” Hank’s words had a lighter tone, but there was no hiding his concern for Nick. 

Monroe watched him go with a growing sense of foreboding. Why had Nick neglected to tell him about such an important bust? And where had he been going the last three days, if not to work? He grabbed his jacket and keys and headed out the door.

\----

Monroe didn’t have far to go to find Nick – he was at his Aunt Marie’s trailer.

“Hey, Nick?” he called, walking around the Grimm’s SUV where it was parked beside the trailer. He sniffed the air suspiciously – thought he detected the beginnings of a fire. He headed towards the front of the trailer where he found Nick standing beside an oil drum, feeding a small fire within it with a few of the relics he recognized from among Aunt Marie’s stores. Monroe rushed forward and put a hand on Nick’s arm, preventing further destruction. “What are you doing?” he asked, shocked that Nick would be doing this.

“Clearing out some of this junk. Marie was such a pack rat.”

Monroe looked at the small pile that remained on the ground and spotted a couple of religious medals, and a reproduction of a Benedictine manuscript among other apparently religious items. He bent over and picked them up. “You know she’d only have kept this stuff if it was important. Why would you destroy any of it?”

Nick shrugged and walked off towards his car. Monroe followed him, determined to get to the bottom of his uncharacteristic behavior. “Is this what you’ve been doing the last three days - destroying your aunt’s legacy to you?”

“No, but what’s it to you, anyway? I’d think a _blutbad_ like you would want to see some of this stuff destroyed. Grimms killed your grandfather, right?”

“Haven’t we been through this before? You know I’m committed to your cause, Nick. What’s gotten into you?”

Nick reached his car and opened the driver’s side door. “Guess I’m just over being a Grimm. If you feel so committed to it, why don’t you chase down the creature of the week instead? Because I’ve seen enough. I’m retiring.”

“What is it – what happened? Was Perkins _Wesen_? What was he? A _geier_? Did he hurt you? Put a hex on you?”

Nick scoffed. “He was an ordinary man, and a weak one at that. In the end, he came along as readily as a lamb to slaughter.” 

Monroe stopped short, taken aback by Nick’s choice of phrase. “Well then, what is going on with you?” he asked quietly, hating the pleading tone he detected in his own voice - almost a whine, he thought – but Nick’s manner with him was brusque and dismissive, and so unlike him it was disconcerting.

“Nothing,” Nick answered, getting into his car and starting the engine. When he did, Monroe thought it might have been a trick of the sunlight, but he would have sworn Nick’s eyes turned completely black for a split second.

\----

Nick didn’t come home for dinner that night, which only compounded Monroe’s unease, and when he didn’t come home _at all_ , the _blutbad_ sat up in the kitchen all night, consuming his body weight in green tea and trying not to call Hank to ask him to issue an APB for the missing Grimm. He finally fell asleep on the couch at 4:00 am, an infomercial about a miracle egg-peeler giving him nasty dreams.

The front door slamming open woke him with a start a couple of hours later, and he was not surprised to see Nick stumble into the house and head for the kitchen, apparently drunk. He heard the hiss from the burner as the kettle was put on to boil and then the unmistakable sound of half a pound of Kona Reserve being spilled onto the floor as he entered the kitchen himself. 

“Where have you been all night?” Monroe asked, looking at the coffee beans on the floor and trying to keep the accusatory tone out of his voice.

Nick looked at him and went back to trying to get the coffee grinder to work. “Out.” He fumbled with the lid, nearly knocking the thing over, and finally Monroe went over to do it for him. When he got closer, he caught unmistakable scents pouring: of whiskey and cigarettes and another woman - and sex. 

Monroe reeled away from him as if he’d been struck. “What did you do?” he asked.

Nick at least had the grace to look guilty. “Monroe –“

“Who was she?”

“No one – some cocktail waitress.”

Monroe had never been faced with this situation before – a lover betraying him like this – and so he was rather surprised at his reaction. Tears welled up in his eyes and fell down his cheeks into his beard, and he felt a sorrow so debilitating he almost couldn’t breathe. “Why?”

“Why not? She was hot.” Nick grabbed a biscotti from the box on the counter and took a bite, then shut off the stove. “I’m beat – think I’ll just head up to bed.”

Monroe watched him go, then moved over to the table and sat down heavily. A thousand questions screamed across his mind, questions about where and who and images of Nick with some cheap bottle blonde named Stacy with a gap in her teeth and crabs, fucking her over some filthy, scarred table where someone had wittily thought to carve “Johnny + Heather 4 Ever” inside a clumsy heart with an arrow through it.

Next, he felt the anger surge through him that he was surprised not to have felt earlier, and he felt his eyes go red at the thought of anyone touching Nick, taking what was his. But then he reminded himself that Nick was the actor here, the one who had betrayed him, their relationship, the bond they’d so carefully built over the last months. Nick who’d managed to tear it all apart in just a couple of days and why? What had happened to him? What had changed him so completely, so suddenly?

Monroe searched his memories – had there been any indication of a change of heart? Had Nick simply fallen out of love with him? No, he refused to believe it. Just this past Sunday, he’d made Monroe pancakes for breakfast and wished him a happy half-birthday – who celebrated half-birthdays past the age of 9? No, something had happened to Nick, he was sure of it. 

Suddenly, he remembered something from his childhood, tales told by the Old Ones around the fire in the long nights in winter. There were reasons why people suddenly changed so completely, and they were sometimes nefarious. He thought he knew what it had to be. Or at least he hoped he knew. Getting up, he swiped the tears off his face with the heel of his hand and headed out to his car. Opening the trunk, he rooted around in the pile of stuff he’d saved from the fire at Marie’s trailer until he found a tiny glass vial. Opening it, he sniffed at it, confirming it was what he thought it was, then headed back into the house.

He took the stairs two at a time, strode into the bathroom where Nick was just coming out of the shower. The room was steamy, redolent with the scent of shampoo and body wash, and again, that sour note to Nick’s scent that Monroe couldn’t place. Now he hoped he had.

Nick draped the towel around his hips and reached for his shaving kit. The mark on his back that Monroe had noticed the other day – a hand-shaped welt square in the middle of his shoulders – stood out in stark contrast to his pale skin. “Hey, close the door, will you?” Nick said over his shoulder. “It’s freezing!”

Monroe ignored him. Instead he unstoppered the tiny vial of holy water in his hand and flung it at Nick’s back, muttering a phrase in Latin he thought he’d forgotten, “ _Vane retro sana._ ”

The water, when it hit Nick’s skin, sizzled and burned as if it was acid. Nick screamed and turned on Monroe, and for the briefest of seconds, his face contorted and he was no longer a man. The face that looked at Monroe was flat, almost reptilian, its eyes dark coals that burned with an evil, red glow from within. He shook his head and was once again Nick – or at least what looked like Nick. And he was pissed.

The vial of holy water flew from Monroe’s hands as Nick grabbed him by his sweater, turned, and slammed him up against the vanity. Monroe cried out in agony as the most sensitive part of his body at the small of his back hit the counter hard, and his vision went all white for a second. Seeing the reaction, Nick pulled him up and then did it again, and Monroe’s legs gave out from the pain. He hung helplessly in the demon’s grasp, panting. “Nick, are you in there?” he croaked, blinking the encroaching darkness away.

Nick – or the _thing_ that wore his face anyway – smirked at him. “Oh, he’s in here all right, and your Grimm is thrashing around like you wouldn’t believe, _blutbad_ ,” he spat. “I wish you could see him – the righteous indignation – he really is a noble character, isn’t he?”

“You leave him!” Monroe gritted out between clenched teeth.

The demon laughed and slammed Monroe against the counter one last time, forcing a cry of pain from him. “I’d like to see you make me,” Monroe heard him say before he passed out.

\----

Even before he was fully conscious, Monroe knew that Nick was out of the house. He rolled over onto his side and instantly regretted moving. The pain in his back was only rivaled by the weakness he felt in his legs and the throbbing in his head. He lay still for a few moments, steeling himself to rise, and finally pushed himself up to a seated position. It took another half hour, his movements slow and deliberate, but he was able to get himself together and out the door to his car. 

He felt like an old man as he hauled himself up the front steps of Holy Angels, pulling at the hand rail because he needed it. He knew he’d find his old friend Father Ben inside, finishing up confessions. He nodded at the young _reinigen_ that exited the confessional ahead of him and went inside and knelt down with some effort. He rested his elbows on the edge of the partition, folded his hands before him, and rested his forehead against them. 

“Bless me, Father,” he began, but he managed no other words for the sob that escaped his lips. 

The divider slid open and Ben reached through, resting his hand on Monroe’s head gently, soothingly. “What’s wrong, my son? Tell me”

“It’s Nick, he – I think he’s been possessed by a _Seelenschlucker_ , Ben.”

Ben froze, snatched his hand back, and his voice was suddenly steely. “What? How do you know?”

Monroe sniffled and looked up at him. “I had holy water, and when I said the words, _vade retro satana,_ it revealed its true face to me.”

Ben crossed himself. “There hasn’t been a _Seelenschlucker_ in America in 50 years, Monroe. And it’s possessed a Grimm?”

“It’s possessed _my Grimm,_ Ben. Tell me you can do something about it – tell me you can expel the thing.”

Ben rose from his seat and removed his glasses. His blue eyes were kind on Monroe’s, and determined. “I can do it. It won’t be pretty, Monroe, and it won’t be easy, but I can do it. We’ll need a Saint Benedict’s cross, some holy water and the right version of the text. I can manage the first two, but I’m afraid I’m not so sure about the last thing.”

Monroe suddenly recalled the pile of relics he’d prevented Nick from destroying, among them a reproduction of a Benedictine manuscript. “Believe it or not, I think I’ve got one in the trunk of my car.”

Ben looked at him, surprised, but said nothing. “Then let’s get going.”

He led Monroe through the nave, across the apse and to the sacristy, where he waited in the doorway for him to catch up. “You move slower than me, kid,” he chided, laying a fond hand on Monroe as he ushered him through to the back of the church, and Monroe winced.

“That _Seelenschlucker_ got the drop on me earlier. I’ll be fine.”

Ben nodded. “You’d better be,” he said, and the old friends shared a knowing look.

They collected a few of the things Ben would need in the sacristy – including the crucifix – and then headed for the rectory so he could change. They were packed into Monroe’s car minutes later, and Monroe headed towards home so that he could try to pick up Nick’s scent from there. 

“Any idea how a demon as badass as a _Seelenschlucker_ came to be in Portland?” Ben asked as they drove. 

Monroe shook his head. “None. What I do know is that Nick was involved in the arrest of Otis Perkins last week, and that they were alone for some time. I think Perkin was possessed - when he was being taken in by the cops, he began ranting about eternal damnation or some such. He’s in lockdown in the psych ward over at County.”

Ben whistled low. “Typical behavior after a possession. I’m surprised the guy survived it, given the type of demon it is. _Seelenschlucker_ are as bad as they get, Monroe.”

Monroe glanced over at Ben, his eyes haunted, and stopped the car. “What they say is true, then?”

Ben nodded slowly. “I’ve only ever seen photographs, and those were nearly a hundred years old, but the bodies – well, I think we both know what this thing’s capable of. You want me to drive?”

“Yeah, then I can concentrate on tracking this thing. We’re close enough to home for me to pick something up.”

\----

Six hours later they were still tracking Nick’s scent. It was as if the demon knew they’d be on its trail, and so it seemed to have laid down several, some that overlapped, others that seemed to go off in more than one direction. Monroe was about to give up when they finally found themselves at a trailhead in Forest Park. Monroe and Ben got out of the car and peered down the shaded path; it curved off to the west, deeper into the forest and out of sight.

“You sure that’s right?” Ben asked.

“Scent’s so strong here, it makes me think it’s less than an hour old.”

“You know he’ll be waiting for us.”

Monroe headed back to the car and rooted around in the trunk. He removed a long tranquilizer gun from a soft-sided case and slung it over his shoulder. He and Nick had thought to use it on a recent case involving a _jagerbar_ , but it hadn’t been necessary. “That’s why I came prepared.”

Ben pulled something from his pocket then and walked over to Monroe. He held the thing up – it was two bits of thick, laminated paper held together by a length of plain ribbon – and said a quick blessing over it. He then looped it over Monroe’s head.

“A scapular? What for?” Monroe asked as he tucked it under his shirt.

“To protect you from possession. I’m covered, but you’re not.” He bent over the bag he’d packed earlier and loaded his pockets with several small vials of holy water, then shoved a large crucifix inside his jacket as well. “Ready?”

“For this? I’ll never be ready.”

“That’s the right attitude – let’s go.”

\----

Monroe scrambled over a fallen tree that blocked the path he was on, and once on the other side, decided to lean against it to rest his aching back. His encounter with the _Seelenschlucker_ had done more damage than he was willing to admit, and already his feet were feeling numb. He and Ben had each gone a different way when the trail appeared to split. He’d insisted the elderly priest take the tranq gun, hoping his superior size would give him some sort of advantage over the demon; its strength had certainly been a match for him, but he hadn’t had a chance to tap into his _blutbad_ reserves.

He was about to start down the path again when a shift in the wind brought Nick’s scent to him from a different direction. He crouched down, preparing himself to be attacked when a rustling from above alerted him to the direction of the attack. He managed to jump to the side in time to avoid the falling body of the possessed Grimm, who rolled to the side as soon as he hit the ground, coming up in a fighting stance, facing Monroe.

“I was beginning to think you’d stand me up,” Nick’s voice said to him. Monroe thought it best not to think of the thing in front of him as his partner.

“I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction,” Monroe said, circling the demon warily. “We’ve got unfinished business.”

Suddenly, the demon launched itself at Monroe, with a furious onslaught of punches and kicks that soon had him on the defensive. He lashed out at the thing, tried to fight it off, but was leery of hurting Nick.

“You’re going to have to get over hitting me or else this won’t be much fun,” the demon said, twisting its body around and aiming a roundhouse kick at Monroe’s head that he was barely able to duck away from. When he turned back around to face the demon, Monroe’s face had morphed. 

“That’s better,” the demon said with a grin. “You know, being inside a Grimm sure is fun – the untapped power in this one – it’s like snorting cocaine and drinking Red Bull all at once. I can’t believe I’ve never thought of this before.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get too comfortable.”

“Oh, and you’re the one to kick me out? I should have killed you when I had the chance, _blutbad_ , gotten away from this burg clean.”

“And given up the chance to make people suffer? It doesn’t seem to be your style, _Seelenschlucker_.” Monroe nodded in satisfaction as the demon’s eyes widened. “That’s right, I know what you are. And I know how to get rid of you.”

The demon laughed at him, sneering, “You haven’t got the juice,” and advanced on Monroe yet again. 

Suddenly, there was the sound of a gun discharging and a five-inch animal tranquilizer dart embedded itself in Nick’s neck. The demon fell to the ground, dazed. Monroe stood over him, a foot on his chest to keep him immobilized, until he was joined by Ben. “I didn’t say I was alone,” Monroe informed the demon. “Meet my friend, Father Ben. He’s a Grimm too.”

\----

“Tighter, Monroe. The bindings must be tight,” Ben said, pulling on the ends of the holy water-soaked rope tied around Nick’s left ankle. Monroe double checked the knots he’d used to tie Nick to the twin bed he and Ben had set up in the basement of Holy Angels church. They’d had to wait until nightfall to enter the church, after 7:00 Mass and then beyond, to be sure all the staff and parishioners had gone. It was 10:00 before they were able to carry Nick down there, and it took longer still to prepare the room.

“No, please. Please!” Nick moaned from his spot on the bed, and Monroe stepped closer to look down at him; his eyes were closed, but his head had begun to loll back and forth on the bed as he seemed to be coming out of the effects of the tranquilizer. His skin was so pale, Monroe thought – paler than he’d ever seen it, and he had dark circles beneath his eyes that stood out like bruises. “Monroe,” he whimpered, “help me, please. Monroe, don’t leave me here, please.” 

Monroe took another step towards him, his hand hovering over him. Suddenly, Ben’s hand clamped down on Monroe’s forearm, stopping him. “Stop right there,” he said sharply, pulling him away. “That’s the demon talking.”

“Ben, please, it’s not – look at him. I can’t watch him suffer like this.” 

“Everything he says is a lie, son. Everything.”

A deep chuckle came from the bed, and Monroe looked down at Nick. The demon grinned up at him, its eyes gleaming black in the low, yellow light of the old lamp they’d plugged in and left on the floor in the corner. “Listen to the priest, Monroe. He knows what he’s talking about.” The demon looked at the ropes keeping him supine on the bed and then back up at Monroe. “You know, he’s crying like a bitch in here, your little Grimm,” the demon said. “Crying for you. It’s fucking pathetic.”

“I am so going to kill you,” Monroe said slowly, his voice low and rumbling deep in his chest.

The demon just laughed. 

A minute later, Ben returned to the room, kissing the fabric of the stole before draping it around his neck. He’d donned his other priestly vestments in the other room, and bore with him the crucifix he’d taken from the church, now attached to a roughly four foot wooden dowel, a small bowl of chrism, a chalice, and the Benedictine manuscript that Monroe had supplied. He set them all down on the floor, leaned over the demon and looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “You spit pea soup up on me, boy, and I’ll send you to the ninth circle of hell.”

The demon laughed. “That’s so cliché. Give me _some_ credit.”

Ben reached down and ripped Nick’s shirt open with both hands. He took up the chrism and began to trace symbols and letters across Nick’s bare chest with his right thumb. 

“Ooo, that tingles,” the demon snarked.

“What is that?” Monroe asked, indicating the diagram Ben was drawing. 

“It’s the formula for exorcism, you find it on the back of a [St. Benedict Medal.](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:St_benedict_medal-2006_04_24.png)” he explained. He snatched his hand away as he completed the drawing with the word, “Pax.” The diagram began to glow and then resolved itself as a faint, faded scar against Nick’s skin. 

“And now we begin with the Lord’s prayer. You remember it in Latin, my friend?”

“I think so,” Monroe said. 

“And you, I’ve no doubt you know it,” Ben said to the demon.

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t join in,” it replied.

“You’ll have no choice. Monroe?”

Both men began to recite, _”Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum.”_

Nick began to thrash on the bed.

“Say it!” Ben commanded. 

“No!”

“You’re compelled to! Say it!”

“I’ll kill him, I swear!” the demon threatened through clenched teeth.

“You know as well as I do, that if the Grimm dies, you do too.”

“Then neither of us gets him!”

“Ben!” Monroe said, shocked, but the priest was staring the demon down. He began reciting the prayer again.

 _”Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum.”_ Monroe joined him and eventually, so did the demon, unwilling and in obvious pain, its voice a low hiss, _“Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra. Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris.”_

The demon was flailing violently on the bed now as it was forced to utter the hated words, pulling at the ropes that bound it. As the three of them said the last words, _”Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo. Amen,”_ Monroe smelled something burning. When he looked down, the ropes had begun to singe, and within seconds, the demon was free. 

“Monroe!” Ben shouted, and the _blutbad_ threw himself on top of Nick’s body. The demon struggled and fought, biting Monroe, punching, kicking, and screaming, but Monroe wouldn’t let him go. He stood up straighter for better leverage, and flipped the demon over onto its belly, then threw his forearm across the back of its shoulders and held him fast, a knee between his thighs holding Nick’s hips pinned down on the bed.

“Is anyone else unbelievably turned on?” the demon said with a smirk. “I’d guess you’re pretty used to this position, aren’t you, Monroe?” 

“Shut up,” Monroe muttered, pressing its face down into the mattress.

And that’s when the demon really began to fight back. It bucked and struggled, nearly dislodging Monroe, who held on with both his arms around its torso. Suddenly, items from around the room began to fly around of their own accord – books, wall hangings - a small shelf knocked him in the back of the head and he saw stars. All of it knocking against Monroe, trying to remove him, but he held on fast. 

Finally, with a terrible scream, the demon rose into the air, hovering on the bed, twisting and howling. Still Monroe held on, his arms and legs wrapped around Nick’s body, glancing nervously at the empty space beneath them. The demon twisted them around so that Monroe was beneath him, raised them both to the ceiling, struggling, kicking, biting, and still Monroe wouldn’t be thrown off. At last, it stopped screaming, and dropped – let them both fall back to the bed below, where they landed with a crash that broke the bed’s frame and made Monroe cry out as his already sore and injured back struck the bed, but still he did not let go.

They lay together against the ruined head of the bed, Monroe’s face a mask of pain, the demon panting against him, its head lolling back against Monroe’s shoulder. “Fucking _blutbaden,_ ” it gasped. “Always were stubborn.”

“Ahh!” Monroe cried out in pain over its voice, and Ben rushed over to him.

“Are you OK, my son?”

“No,” he groaned.

“Can you go on?”

“I don’t see where I have a choice!”

Ben nodded. “We’ll begin the exorcism now.” He picked up the crucifix, and took a deep breath. “Are you ready, Monroe?” he asked, his eyes meeting the younger man’s. “Because once this gets started, there’s no turning back; there’s no getting him back again if we fail. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” he breathed. Monroe braced himself, wincing at the pain in his back, and grasped Nick tighter around his shoulders. The demon chuckled softly, but its eyes never left the crucifix Ben held. Monroe closed his own eyes as Ben began.

Ben advanced on the demon, and it began screaming in another language, one Monroe had never heard before. But its struggles ceased as soon as the cross touched its forehead, the contact with the holy relic enough to hold the creature down. Monroe could smell burning flesh and hair as the cross made contact with the demon’s skin, and said a silent prayer that Nick could survive this.

Then Ben began to chant,

_”Crux sancta sit mihi lux_  
Non draco sit mihi dux  
Vade retro satana  
Numquam suade mihi vana  
Sunt mala quae libas  
Ipse venena bibas.” 

Ben knelt and took up the chalice from the floor, held it to Nick’s lips and made him drink the blessed wine. “The blood of Christ,” he intoned. Next, he pulled a communion wafer from inside his robes and fed it to Nick. “The body of Christ.” 

Suddenly, Monroe felt something move through him, Ben, the bed, Nick, the room itself. A presence – that’s all he could describe it as – flooded the space, simultaneously displacing and replacing the air within the room. Monroe felt his eardrums pop as the pressure in the room changed, the place shuddered and then everything went still. 

Ben was laying both his hands on Nick’s head when Monroe opened his eyes. “Amen,” Nick said quietly, and this time, Monroe knew instinctively that it was his partner speaking.

“Nick?” Monroe said, easing his grip, but not letting go completely.

Nick sat forward, twisted around slightly and looked at Monroe, his entire body shaking, tears flooding his eyes. “Monroe,” he whispered, and passed out in his arms.

\----

Monroe watched Nick stare out the window of the hospital’s day room. He was sitting alone in a chair beneath a large, potted fichus, and hadn’t moved in more than an hour. 

“Any change?” said a voice behind him.

Monroe startled and twisted around in his wheelchair – the injuries he’d sustained to his back during his fights with the demon weren’t permanent, but they had led to nerve damage that was slow to heal; the weakness in his legs made it difficult for him to walk. He found that Ben had come up behind him and was surprised – he hadn’t heard the elderly Grimm’s approach – but then, he usually never did.

“None,” Monroe replied, wiping the tears from his cheeks. Nick had been in a catatonic state since the exorcism two weeks ago, saying nothing, reacting to nothing. He would do what he was asked, go where he was pointed, eat when he was told, but it was like his entire will had fled along with the demon.

“He’s lucky to be alive,” Ben pointed out.

“You call that luck?” Monroe asked bitterly. “He’s practically a vegetable.” He pushed his chair forward, heading in Nick’s direction. Nick’s total lack of personality, of inner spark, had been hard to take, especially after what Monroe had been through to save him. Nick had responded to nothing since they brought him to the hospital early that morning, not Monroe, or his friends and colleagues – even Juliette’s presence hadn’t seemed to register on him. Monroe was beginning to despair that there would ever be any change. 

“It just takes time, my son.”

“Do you really mean that, Ben, or are you just trying to make me feel better?”

Ben couldn’t answer, because, Monroe suspected, he knew it was more than likely the latter. He stood back and watched over them both as Monroe inched forward some. He halted the chair next to where Nick was sitting and took his hand. 

“Nick?” Nick blinked slowly but stared out the window. “It’s me. Again. Monroe.” Monroe clutched at Nick’s hand and pulled it into his lap. Nick turned his head and looked at Monroe, who reached up and pushed his hair off of his forehead; the bandage that covered the skin graft on the burn there stood out in stark contrast to the Grimm’s dark hair. 

“Think you might talk today?” 

Nick blinked.

“It kills me to think of what may have happened to you with that demon inside you. Is that why you’re like this? Did it torture you?”

Nick blinked.

“Because no matter what, I think that if you could come out here, to me, if you could just talk about it, it’d make it a lot better. It’d make you better.”

Nick blinked.

“I know all about that, you know. You helped me see that, when I was at my lowest, when those men made me… kill my own.” Monroe’s voice broke at the memory of what he’d had to do to survive a brutal captivity at the hands of gamblers who enjoyed pitting various _Wesen_ against each other like gladiators. “I wouldn’t have made it through that if it wasn’t for you, so you know, I’m just here to return the favor. You know I hate owing you, man, so…” He let his voice trail off as he put his other hand over Nick’s where it lay motionless and warm in his.

“I love you, you know?” Monroe said, trying another tack. “I sometimes think I don’t say it enough. And I don’t want you to think it’s hard for me or anything. But… 

“OK, it is hard for me, because it’s been such a long time since I let anyone get close to me - _anyone_ , Nick, and I guess I just got used to being alone. Self-contained. So it’s hard to share, to open up. But if it’d bring you back, I’d say it every minute of every day. I love you, I love you, _I love you._ ”

He watched Nick for a minute longer, but there was no reaction but that slow blink to which he’d become so accustomed. 

“Well, maybe you still need time. Maybe you need time to get back to yourself, and that’s why you’re… like this. But I’m here to tell you, it’s a lot easier when you share the load, Nick. A lot easier.” He brought Nick’s hand to his face and kissed it, then put it back in Nick’s lap where it had been. 

Monroe then maneuvered his wheelchair so that he was sitting parallel with Nick, and looked out at the hospital’s grounds, at the just-appearing blossoms on the pear trees and the patches of pale, green, young grass that dotted the broad expanse of lawn out the window. It was his favorite time of year, the time when everything was coming alive for Spring, everything was new and full of promise, and it was killing Monroe to realize he might not be able to share that with Nick. That Nick wouldn’t be able to appreciate any of it ever again.

It was several minutes later that he felt a faint tickling at the hairs at the back of his head. A warm, rushing feeling filled his belly as he realized that it was Nick’s fingers, caressing him, running through the curls there like he always did whenever they’d kiss. Monroe closed his eyes and leaned into Nick’s hand, then turned his head and regarded him with shining eyes. 

“Nick?”

Nick blinked, but this time when he looked at him, Monroe saw that he registered his presence, that he knew where he was and who he was, at last. And then Nick’s face crumpled half a minute later, and he let out a sob filled with such pain and sorrow that it was heartbreaking to hear. Monroe sat forward and gathered him into his arms, cradling the smaller man’s head against his chest. Nick pushed his arms around Monroe’s waist and held on tight, his sobs muffled against Monroe’s sweater as he wept. “I got you,” Monroe said, “I’ve got you and I’m not ever letting go.” 

Monroe closed his eyes and let a tiny wave of relief flow over him, even as he comforted his broken lover in his arms. To see Nick exhibiting any kind of emotion was a breakthrough, and much preferred to his former state. It was something Monroe could deal with; he knew Nick would have a long road to recovery, and that it would be hard, but at least they’d get there together. 

“Never letting go.”

\----

Thank you for your time.

**Author's Note:**

> * Thanks to my pal tj_teejay for the title of this fic, which I’m told is German for “possession.” Also, she gave me the word Seelenschlucker, which means soul swallower in German.  
> * The exorcism rites described in this story aren’t at all accurate, as far as I know. It's just an amalgamation of things I found with a minimum of Google-fu. What can I say – I didn’t feel like slogging through chapters and chapters of the _Rituale Romanum_. It’s my ‘verse, so I get to make the rules.


End file.
